


California (Lights & Buzz)

by JustCrushALot



Series: Oh, the places we'll go. [5]
Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F, Sad with a Happy Ending, Song fic, State fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:46:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29207580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustCrushALot/pseuds/JustCrushALot
Summary: Lights and Buzz - Jack’s MannequinThis story is loosely based on the true story ofAndrew McMahon, the lead singer of Jack's Mannequin, Something Corporate, and Andrew McMahon in the wilderness. He was diagnosed with leukemia in his early 20's just after his first solo-record dropped. So… this fic contains cancer.
Relationships: Tobin Heath/Christen Press
Series: Oh, the places we'll go. [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1973557
Comments: 18
Kudos: 135





	California (Lights & Buzz)

**Author's Note:**

> [Lights and Buzz - Jack’s Mannequin](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vzg2iZoUFeo)
> 
> This story is loosely based on the true story of [Andrew McMahon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5J7L84mAARc), the lead singer of Jack's Mannequin, Something Corporate, and Andrew McMahon in the wilderness. He was diagnosed with leukemia in his early 20's just after his first solo-record dropped. So… this fic contains cancer.

“Breathe, Tobin. Breathe!”

The voice sounds distant, like it’s coming through radio static waking her from the depths of a dream. 

“TOBIN!”

It’s louder now, closer, like the sound is an image and it’s just coming into focus. 

“TOBES! DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE DO THIS TO ME!”

And then it’s clearer than the sound of noon from the inside of a church belltower.

She gasps and feels the pressure sinking on and lifting off her chest. Her heart is beating to a rhythm set by someone else’s hands. She tries to open her eyes but the light hits her brain like she’s an ant under a magnifying glass. It’s excruciating. She pulls her eyelids together tighter and tighter, hoping if she keeps the light out she can lock out the pain.

A sound escapes her mouth, something between a moan and a wail. And then everything falls to a hush. All around her are whispers of encouragement, like quiet little prayers spoken in her direction. 

“Please, Tobin.” 

“Come on Tobes.” 

“Stay with us.”

She wonders if god feels this powerless when people pray to him. 

The moment of reverence is shattered by clear and loudening sirens. She lets herself relax into the compressions as they push into her chest. She thinks whispers in her head as she hears the gurney crash through the door: “You have to make it.”

But someone responds. Someone’s voice replies. “What, Tobin? What did you say?”

Hands around her body sliding a backboard under her, stabilizing her head, forcing her eyes open and shining lights into them that are more painful than the last. Something cool enters her bloodstream and she feels a chill throughout her body. 

“Christen?” she asks as everything goes dark. “I love yo—.” 

* * *

She blinks awake lying on her back in a bed that is not quite flat. The light in the room is soft, like it’s coming only from a window. It must be daytime. She can hear [ machines ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oX20kwH6iEQ) clicking behind her to her and there’s something pressing down on both sides of her left index finger. She’s cold and her mouth is totally dry. Her right hand has someone else’s hand in it. 

_She doesn’t think she has pants on._

She remembers collapsing, the sirens, the gurney. She understands, in flashes of memory, that she’s in the hospital. 

“Chris?” she says trying to turn her head and focus on the owner of the hand in hers. She feels a wave of exhaustion wash over her immediately and she closes her eyes, unsure if she’s even spoken aloud.

The voice that responds isn’t Christen’s. Of course it’s not. She doesn’t even know why she asked. “No bud, just me. Ash.” There's a pause and a slow inhale, like Ashyn is trying to think of how to tell her something. Trying to hold something back. Because, of course, she is. “How you feeling? You really had us all really worr—”

But Tobin falls back asleep before she hears the rest of the sentence. 

* * *

The next time she wakes she’s acutely aware of how dark it is in the room. She can see the distant glow of a fluorescent light. She tries to study her own body in the bed, lit only by a dim monitor and the reflection of light from the hallway. She can hear Ashlyn talking on the phone just outside the door. She’s whispering, but it’s loud and insistent, almost pleading. 

“You have to come. I don’t care what happened between you. This is serious. This isn’t like when she got too high and forgot to drink water. It’s cancer. She had a stroke. She has like no blood.” She hears Ashlyn take a deep shuddery breath, “Look, they don’t sound like they really think she’s going to make it. They keep saying she’s so young for this.” There's a pause and Tobin tries to process the information she’s just heard. She listens to Ashlyn’s feet shuffling in the hallway as the words, “They don’t think she’s going to make it,” echo around her body and settle in her throat, pulling her saliva down in a hard and full swallow; pushing tears into her eyes. 

“She keeps saying your name in her sleep, like she’s asking for you. It’s just— listen you just need to come.”

“I KNOW but she NEEDS you. I swear to god she wants you here. Please.”

Ashlyn’s voice is growing louder, more impatient. “I don’t know, just see if someone will take your shifts for a couple of days. Just make it work. Please. She’s not going to fight for me. Or for the rest of us. But she’ll fight for you. She has to fight. I can’t lose her.”

Her voice drops low again, like she’s speaking some inherent universal truth that most mortals dare not mention. “And you should admit to yourself that neither can you.”

Tobin feels the tears start to roll down her cheeks. She closes her eyes and prays it’s all a horrible dream. She lets the haze of whatever drug drip she’s hooked up to overwhelm her.

* * *

The next few days pass in a blur. She gets lots of information. SO much information. Enough to make her numb about the whole thing. 

Her parents fly in from California. They agree with her doctors that she should do at least one round of inpatient chemotherapy there, in Ohio, and then evaluate her ability to move back home. 

Nobody sounds optimistic, even when they’re saying optimistic things. 

Her days are slow and her nights are restless. She wonders if she’s going to spend her last days counting ceiling tiles and feeling cold in a place so far from home. 

Ashlyn, for her part, has stuck by Tobin through all of it. She has a hotel room in the same place as Tobin’s parents, and appears to have no intention of leaving Tobin alone with them. 

And Tobin is really so grateful for that. As much as her parents love and support her, they don’t understand _her_ , really. Plus, it’s nice, sometimes, to have someone you can say dark things to. 

* * *

“Cancer and golf,” She muses aloud one day. 

“Things old White people worry about?” Ashlyn guesses.

“Things where higher numbers are worse.” Tobin corrects. 

“Points on your license. Arrests!” Ashlyn responds.

“NIH Grant scores,” Tobin’s physician adds, as she’s looking through Tobin’s chart in the corner. 

“And Cholesterol,” her nurse chimes in as she is hanging a bag of god knows what. “And the height of the last limbo bar you clear.”

Tobin laughs out loud before taking a deep, almost wistful breath, “Any chance I could just lie and get it down to Stage 2, doc? I’ve talked my way out of plenty of traffic tickets, why not leukemia stages?”

Her physician sighs and gives her a sad smile, “I wish it was that easy, Tobin. But we’re going to have to fight this one honestly.” 

* * *

“She needs to come back to California.” She hears a voice carrying through the hallway on her fifth morning in the hospital. The sun has just started to leak into the window in her room encasing everything in a soft and warm glow. She swallows with effort and wonders why she's awake when she feels so tired. Then she hears the voice again: the one that pulled her from her sleep.

It sounds like—

But it couldn’t be—

“I talked to one of my med school mentors at UCSF and she has a spot in a clinical trial if she wants it. It’s a cutting edge treatment for younger leukemia patients. She can’t stay in Ohio. She doesn’t even know anyone here. She needs people. She needs the trial. ”

_Mentors. Med school._

“Chris?” Tobin asks, her voice the loudest it’s been in days. Still it goes nowhere, dying before it can even reach the door. 

“Chris?” She calls again, but nobody responds. 

She pushes the button to page the nurse. When the nurse arrives in the doorway Tobin’s eyes are wide as she asks, “Is— is Christen here?”

“I’m sorry, dear, nobody named Kristen works on the unit.”

“No. No I mean do I have a new visitor? Christen. C-H-R-I-S-T-E-N. Christen Press? She’s a doctor.”

“Oh, that doctor from California out there? Is she yours? I just heard her talking to one of our attendings and your parents.”

Tobin’s heart starts racing. “Wait, really? Could—uh—could you go get her for me?” she asks.

“Sure.” 

As the nurse turns her back to leave the room, “No! Wait. Does my hair look okay?” She tries to smooth the frizz. She really hasn’t brushed it, or taken care of anything about her appearance, since she got here. 

“Here.” The nurse offers, giving her a hospital comb from a drawer. 

Tobin combs through her hair and the nurse offers a look of knowing pity paired with a sad smile. “Much better.”

When the nurse leaves, Tobin looks at herself in her phone’s self-view camera. She looks— _there’s no way around it_ —terrible. She’s pale and almost blue with big rings under her eyes. She looks sick. She runs the pad of her finger back and forth under her eye, as if it might wipe away the dark circles there; as if it might make her eyes look less sunken. 

But then—like a miracle, like the first breath she’s taken in three years—Christen is standing in the doorway of her hospital room. Her mind goes blank and she just stares. She feels like there’s a wave crashing over her head and the undertow is sweeping her off her feet, pulling her out into the Pacific. Her stomach ties into knots and her heart starts to race. Tobin opens her mouth, hoping anything might come out, hoping the perfect words are waiting in the back of her throat. 

Maybe, “I’m sorry.” Or, “You’re everything. Or, “I’m a shell of myself without you.” Or, “I feel like I’m floating into space without you here.” Or, perhaps, “I know I don’t deserve it, but please, I don’t want to die without you here.” 

But nothing comes out. 

Tears form along her bottom eyelids.

“Chris,” she finally manages to breathe. It comes out like a plea. 

“Tobin,” she replies, in a tone that somehow takes the weight of the moment from Tobin’s shoulders. Tobin takes a deep breath so sharply she worries it might crack open her chest as Christen starts to walk toward her.

Christen wordlessly lowers the railing on Tobin’s bed and puts her left leg up, next to Tobin’s right. Tobin shifts herself across the bed, making space for Christen, who climbs in and settles under Tobin’s right arm, curling the front of her body against Tobin’s side and placing her hand on Tobin’s chest. She draws small circles there, saying nothing at all.

As she does, the memories start to flood Tobin’s consciousness.

⇠

She’s 13 and Christen is [ walking by ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YFtVDAtGLeU) her door on her way to Perry’s room just like she has pretty much every day since they started playing club volleyball together. Christen just moved in across the street and she and Tobin have pre-algebra together, but they really haven’t talked much. Christen’s in her volleyball spandex shorts and a loose-fitting shirt and has her hair pulled up in a tight bun. She stops in Tobin’s doorway and casually calls out, “Hi, Tobes.” But today, for some reason, things shift. Something about the way her name crosses Christens lips sends a rush of blood throughout Tobin’s body. She calls back, “Hey!” but it feels different than it ever has before. It’s raspy and strained and she worries she might have said it all wrong. She lies back on her bed and stares at the glow-in-the-dark stars she’s plastered to her ceiling and takes comfort in the fact that stars are still in the sky even during the daytime; even when you can’t see them. She thinks maybe she’ll ask Christen to be her partner for the graphing project they have due later in the month.

She’s 14 and it’s 4am. She opens her seventh root beer in as many hours and hears Christen giggle on the other side of the phone. Her vision is a little blurry and her head is swimming. “What? I’m trying to stay awake. I want to keep talking to you!” And Christen is teasing her for drinking a caffeine-free beverage to stay awake, but she’s barely registering the words. Instead, she’s pulling her pillow against her chest as she smiles and swoons and realizes she’s in far deeper than she could have imagined.

She’s 15 and it’s about 10pm, and they’re about 25 yards away from the crowd around the bonfire staring at the stars. She’s letting the sound of the waves pull her through the fog of the pot they just smoked as Christen goes on about how proud she is of Tobin and her band for winning the battle of the bands, “Especially against all of those seniors and college students and dudes.” And Tobin is doing her best to listen and smile, but she’s entranced by Christen’s lips, which, lit softly by a half-moon and the fire, are perhaps the most mesmerizing force in the whole of California. And she’s reminding herself they’re just friends as Christen catches her staring and stops mid-sentence, demanding, “What?”

She’s 16 and standing in her kitchen, heart beating fast, hands nearly shaking, as she [ screams ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hXTwi0_q5bE) at Christen about how Andrew is such a goddamn dumbass, and Christen can do so much better, and they never get to talk or hang out anymore because she’s always off with _him_. And, FINE! Fuck her for caring but he’s just such a dick and Tobin doesn’t deserve the bullshit Christen’s been putting her through. And then she’s gasping for breath when Christen crosses the room and pushes her body against Tobin’s and everything swirls between them as their lips crash together—desperate and angry and for the first time. 

She’s 17, and it’s two days after graduation, and she’s loading her amps into the little trailer attached to the beat up 90s Ford passenger van. And Christen is beaming and telling her it’s going to be amazing, and making her promise to call every night after the shows, no matter how late. She’s reminding Tobin that she and Jeff are going to come see them in Phoenix and at all of their Northern California shows. And maybe Tobin is really worried that nobody’s going to be in the tiny rock clubs they’ve booked gigs at, but she’s trying not to let Christen see that. Christen still grabs her hand and says, “I love you. You all are something special. They’re going to see, Tobes. I promise.” 

She’s 18 and in a shitty motel room in the tenderloin district, but Christen is wearing the laciest lingerie Tobin has ever seen and calling Tobin, “My rockstar.” And Tobin really isn’t sure how she got so fucking lucky.

She’s 19, and they sold out 20 of 25 shows on their second US tour. She’s exhausted. But she finds life—her spark to continue—cuddled up with Christen in Christen’s twin-sized dorm-room bed whispering stories from their time spent apart. And when they go to the dining hall for breakfast, [ someone asks her for an autograph](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7tX-Wi5IKlI). Still, when she looks into Christen’s eyes, she feels like she’s on solid ground—like they can take on anything together. 

She’s 20 and begging Christen to skip her summer medical program and come to Europe to tour with them. But Christen can’t. She has a scholarship. It’s her ticket to medical school. Tobin tries not to feel like she’s chasing some childish dream, but the venues aren’t getting any bigger, and they’re still traveling in a shitty van, and Christen is working toward being a _doctor_.

She’s 21 and a little drunk from the show’s after party. She’s holding Christen in a hotel bed somewhere in Oregon when Christen tells her she officially got accepted into the UCSF med school program. She kisses her deeply and tells Christen how incredibly fucking proud she is of her. And then she’s smirking and wiggling her while she pulls Christen to the edge of the bed and tells her she’s going to show her just how proud. And Christen is laughing genuinely as she takes Tobin’s face in her hands, kisses her gently and says, “I think I’d definitely be up for that, rockstar.”

She’s 22 and a little coked up when she arrives to Christen’s apartment after the show. Christen skipped the after party. She had to go home and study. She has to study a lot these days. Tobin feels like they barely talk. And the band is selling out shows all across the US, but Christen can’t travel to them anymore. She missed the New York show in the venue Tobin has dreamed of playing since she was 15. And, in every town, every night, some absolutely stunning woman traces a line on her body—her bicep, her spine, her waist, her hip—with delegate fingers, and Tobin misses being touched.

She’s 23 and they haven’t really talked in two weeks. Christen missed the first-night show at the Fillmore, having been _absolutely required_ to do some stupid thing at the hospital. And, yeah, Tobin is rolling, so what? She shows up at Christen’s apartment sweaty and stoned. She’s insistent even though Christen seems tentative. In the morning when she wakes up, Christen isn’t next to her. And when she stumbles out into the kitchen Christen tells her to sit down with a look of disappointment and determination. She knows where this train is headed so she rips it off of the rails before it can get there.

She calls Christen an uptight bitch.

She screams that Christen has never _really_ supported her.

She slams the door on the way out and tells herself the lump in her throat is anger.

She’s 24 and getting high and laid every night. And it feels [ amazing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YgIAZimTNzE). _This_ is what a _rock star_ should feel. And she fucks Erin, even though she knows [ Erin has a boyfriend](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ssS2gafkVl4). Even though, if Christen has a nemesis, it’s Erin. And she posts a picture of Erin sitting in her lap to her story. In the picture her hand is around Erin’s waist and Erin is arching into Tobin, looking needy, and you can see her hot pink bra down her shirt. And they’re both a little fucked up right now, so maybe that’s why Erin lets her post it. She checks the views all night until she sees Christen looks and smiles vindictively before the guilt and shame flood her stomach. She thinks she’s severed her tether to the earth and wonders if this is what it might feel like floating away into outer space.

She’s 25 and wakes up in the hospital. With all of the drugs and alcohol in her system, and her constricted blood vessels, the doctors make the easy call: dehydration. She has a text from Chris, checking in, as a friend—she’d heard Tobin passed out on stage. Tobin throws her phone across the room, shattering the screen. 

She answers the text from a penthouse hotel suite in San Francisco three weeks later. There’s a girl in her bed who just did things that should have blown her fucking mind, and she got the best molly in the city, but she could barely enjoy it thinking about that fucking text (thinking about how Christen is only a cab ride away). Almost two years and it’s a text that insists on clarifying friendship? She sends, “Fuck You” and blocks Christen’s number.

She’s 26 and about to start the tour for her solo album. The band had dissolved after “creative differences,” but it was a blessing in disguise. This is the album she’s always wanted to make, the one she couldn’t make with the band or their record label. 

The whole process of recording has felt like starting over. It feels like maybe it’s saved her a little. She was honestly spiraling there for a minute, she’ll admit that to herself now. But she’s prouder of this than maybe anything else she’s ever done musically. And maybe she can find her way back to [ solid ground](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WdW48xSbb9s). 

She and Ash are still tight, and Ash agrees to tour with her. They’ve been playing together since they were 14 and it's nice to have her along. It makes rehearsals easier and she has someone to call her on her shit. They have a gorgeous tour bus and the label has given her a huge advance. They’re starting the tour in Columbus, Ohio because she was actually, technically, born there and, at this point, it feels like a safer “hometown” than LA. Ash has just raised a toast to the tour backstage before the show when her vision starts to tunnel and she feels the glass slip from her hand. As she collapses into the dark a single, indelible name crosses her mind:

 _Christen_.

⇢

Tobin starts to try to speak. Her mouth is dry as if all of the tears that are about to fall from her eyes have their source somewhere in her throat. “Chris— I—”

But Christen puts her finger over Tobin’s lips. “Shh. I know. We’ll do that later. Just be with me, here, right now.”

And Tobin lets herself relax into Christen. 

* * *

She wakes a few hours later with Christen pressed against her, breathing softly, asleep in her arms. It’s better than anything she could have imagined, and just for a bare and brief instant she feels grateful for her cancer. 

* * *

Christen does get her into the clinical trial at UCSF. The label lets her take the tour bus across the country to get there. It takes two days and the whole time Tobin imagines what it would have been like to actually get to live on the bus and tour the country. It feels like a loss. 

But Christen rides with her the whole way and tells that it’s okay, that she’ll have a chance in the future to do it. And when she tells Tobin that she listened to the new record, before she even came to Ohio, Tobin can’t stop herself from crying. 

After they get to the hospital in California, Tobin expects Christen to leave. But she doesn’t. She really only leaves Tobin’s side to go to work, and even when Tobin is sleeping, Christen is beside her, researching other possible treatments. 

They don’t have the conversation, the one they _need_ to have. The one where Tobin admits she was awful and begs for forgiveness and Christen has to consider whether she believes it. They don’t dare cross that bridge. 

Still, somehow, their past is not an elephant in the room. Or, at least, it’s not the biggest one. The real thing that hangs over everything they do is the fact that Tobin could— 

might— 

probably will— 

die.

Here. In this room.

The leukemia is aggressive and she’s not showing the signs of improvement she should be. They say she needs a bone marrow transplant, but that her body is too weak and her system isn’t ready to endure the procedure right now; the thing that should save her life would kill her. She overhears Christen tell her parents she is worried Tobin was assigned to the placebo arm of the clinical trial. 

She constantly feels foggy, a cross between the chemo, morphine, and anti-nausea medicine she’s on along with ( _maybe_ ) the drug for which she’s become a lab rat. But somehow, each day, Christen finds a way to cut through the fog like a beacon. She manages to make Tobin smile and laugh and hope. She takes care of the paperwork and keeps tabs on Tobin’s chart. She whispers, “ _It’s okay_ ” to Tobin when she jolts awake from the nightmares. 

And the nightmares do come. Some of them repeatedly. Tobin has come to know some of the recurring characters in them quite well.

* * *

Grief is a woman in her early 50’s—sharp features and high cheekbones. She wears bold lipstick, and even though she gets smaller from time to time, nothing about her ever fades. 

Destruction is an older gentleman with a top hat and a cane. He always looks slightly out of place, but in the way one does when one is truly in control and above the fray. His skin is loose with wrinkles as though it used to contain many secrets that gravity has since pulled out. 

Want and Hope are twins, no older than 10 years. They have bright smiles and full cheeks. Their very presence makes Tobin dream of [ colors ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wfm1Gvlz12U) she’s never seen. When they’re in the room everyone watches; distracted from everything by their glow. Sometimes their distractions help guide Tobin to safety. Other times she manages to wander into peril, still captivated by the twins.

Death is ever-present, but always just outside of Tobin’s vision. Even when she thinks she catches her out of the corner of her eye, she can’t be sure. Her voice is sweet and calming, though her stench always betrays her when she gets close. She’s taller than Tobin, her voice always coming from above Tobin’s ears, and, by her diction, is more imposing than Tobin in every way. But the words and phrases she uses tell Tobin that they’re the same age—that they might have crossed paths before, at a party on the beach or backstage at a show.

And Christen is usually there, too, holding Tobin’s hand.

That is, until she gives it away to someone else—one of the twins, or grief, or destruction.

She hasn’t given it to death yet, but Tobin can feel that day drawing nearer with each dream.

Still, when Tobin wakes up, sweat pouring from her brow, heart racing as if she is bracing for a blow, Christen will hold Tobin’s hand and rub her back and cuddle her. 

* * *

She keeps her distance otherwise. 

Tobin doesn’t press the issue. She fucked up. Christen doesn’t owe a thing to her; even if her touch sets Tobin on fire, Christen doesn’t belong to her, not anymore. 

* * *

“You’re a real rockstar now!” Christen tells Tobin as she runs the electric clippers down the center of Tobin’s head. “How punk is a shaved head on a girl?”

Her hair started falling out two days ago. She got up in the morning, but a few clumps of hair didn’t. She’d stared at the bed for almost 10 minutes before a nurse came in and asked if she needed anything. 

“Clippers. I need to shave my head now.”

Still, she hadn’t been able to do it on her own.

Tobin tries to smile as Christen carefully runs the clippers over her scalp, but the whole thing is making it feel more real. She feels shaky and restless and unsure. 

She ducks from under the clippers, head half shaved, and flees from the bathroom. 

When she comes back 20 minutes later, Christen is still there, reading calmly, waiting for Tobin’s return. 

“Ready to try again?” Her words are gentle and forgiving. 

And if Christen’s off-put by the way Tobin weeps as her hair falls to the floor, she gives no indication of it. Still, it’s four days before she feels like she can really look Christen in the eye. 

* * *

Sometimes Tobin just stares at Christen—working on her laptop, eyes heavy and shoulders slumped as she tries to fit life as a resident around her dedication to Tobin—her high-school sweetheart; her ex.

Tobin feels a mix of unabashed gratitude and wracking guilt at Christen's presence. She knows, deep down, that the right thing to do is to tell Christen to go. Tobin knows that she broke everything about them—and now Christen is here, doing everything for her. She should really let her go. But she can’t. It’s selfish and stupid, but she just can’t let her go. She needs Christen, desperately. She can’t die alone. She can’t die without Christen. And maybe she’ll live. She can admit now she can’t stand the thought of doing that without Christen, either.

* * *

“Oh my god, are you serious?” She hears Christen call out from the hall. “Tobes!” she exclaims, bursting into her room. “Tobes! Your numbers… it’s… the treatment’s working!”

“What? It… it is?”

“Yes, oh my god this is dramatic improvement, Tobin.” Christen says, holding the tablet with Tobin’s chart up in victory. She rushes across the room, as if she is going to show Tobin the tablet. But she drops the Tablet on Tobin’s lap and takes Tobin’s face in her hands and kisses Tobin for the first time since they were 23. And it sends Tobin's head spinning. She opens her eyes to find Christen pulling back, apologizing profusely. But with strength she’d long forgotten surging through her body she reaches out for Christen and pulls her back in and kisses her again. 

When they pull apart Tobin closes her eyes and lays back on the bed and puts her hands over her head and says, “I can’t believe I almost died without getting to kiss you again.”

“You’re not going to die, Tobin. You’re going to fight. And maybe, if I’m lucky, I’m even going to get to kiss you again. Somewhere that doesn’t smell like lysol and hand sanitizer and isn’t my workplace.”

“I think that’d make me the lucky one, Chris.”

* * *

⇢⇢

It’s a cool morning in early November when Tobin heads back to the hospital. It’s the kind of morning where the scent of the air is supposed to invigorate you. But it still feels a bit like she’s wading into frigid and dark water. Katie, Tobin’s oldest sister, is admitted to the hospital at 8:57am. 

Tobin is admitted one hour later. It’s been 3 weeks since she left the hospital and it feels almost strange to be back in a hospital room with a bed. 

Life feels like it’s been coming back to her in pieces in those weeks. Her label has reached out to reschedule her tour. Pending, of course, her recovery. She tells them her [ voice is still so weak ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4W1Sdedx6CI) and she’s still not positive she’s going to make it. Still, her record sales have been through the roof since the news broke about her hospitalization and battle with cancer. She’s been writing a blog, updating people on her journey. Sometimes she feels like it’s just ranting into the void. Still, she’s been getting letters of support from fans all over the world. They arrive in bundles from her label. Tobin cherishes nearly every word as she runs her fingers across them, thinking about how she really might have done enough. 

She’s rented an in-laws quarters near the hospital so that she can easily get there to get her infusions and tests. It has a piano and a view of a garden and a stack of books she’s been making her way through. She can’t really go outside—the lacking immune system and all—but she’s made the most of her stay. 

She hasn’t been able to regularly see Christen lately: She’s finishing up a rotation in the emergency department and they just can’t risk her getting Tobin sick. Well… sicker than she is. 

It gives Tobin hope that Christen is moving forward with her plans. It makes her think Christen believes Tobin is going to make it. It also makes her worry that Christen will move on from her after all of this is over.

They talk on the phone every night, but Tobin still can’t help but wonder if Christen’s just being kind. Tobin doesn’t deserve this level of kindness. Plus, they still haven’t had the conversation—about the past—about all the ways Tobin fucked up—and Tobin is beginning to wonder if they ever will. Maybe Christen is just waiting for her to get better so that she can leave; or, worse, protecting Tobin from heartbreak before what Christen knows is the end of Tobin's life. 

Through it all today has been coming toward her like a dark shape ahead in the woods. Like she’s been walking into an ever-closing tunnel of trees and she’s barely managing to crawl now. It could be that she’s crawling toward impending doom.

_How are you supposed to feel when the thing you’re doing is really, truly your last hope?_

She gets a picture of Katie after the procedure. She’s in the recovery room and she honestly looks like shit. She’s so weak and pale. She’s giving a thumbs up and a big smile and uses the caption, “Good luck sis 👍. I love you.” in the text. 

It strikes her as unjust, as the transplant cells flow in through her central line, that the process that was so cruel to Katie is so easy on her end. As she lies in her hospital bed that night, still feeling a little nauseous from the preparatory treatment, she decides to send Katie some flowers. 

She orders them online, typing the delivery tag out to read, “[ Katie, you’re a brave girl ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yTRC_mOcWGo). Thanks for the marrow.”

* * *

It explodes inside her, destroying everything she has, just like it should. It wrecks every portion of her—those sick and tired parts. It replaces everything with life. It carries her forward. She starts to follow the twins in all of her dreams, and they never seem to go astray. And death is never there anymore. She starts dreaming in melodies and lyrics again. Like her heart now has the rhythm it was missing to let her feel the music. [ The walls cave in ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nhh4phuNty0) but she’s still there; she survives..

* * *

⇢⇢

Dusk is falling on a warm December night in Los Angeles County. The air is thick but relaxed, and the smog has been pulled out to sea. There’s a clear view of the ocean and the mountains from here, the kind of view Tobin used to tell people she’d have died to have. The remaining Christmas lights are starting to flicker on as the unlucky people who have to work between Christemas and New Year make their way home. 

“Tobes, we need to get going!” Ashlyn’s voice echoes across the house.

“Hold on, I’ll be right there, Ash!” 

“Do you need help?” It’s a question asked a thousand times by a hundred different people, always in earnest, with her best interest in mind. But, it’s getting old. It’s only been a couple of weeks since she moved home from San Francisco, but she already feels like everyone needs to stop walking on eggshells around her. 

“Nah, I got it.” She calls, carrying some sound equipment out from the studio door toward the van. She realizes she forgot her laptop bag and turns back to retrieve it. 

“Sound check is in 40, Tobin. We really gotta hit the road!”

“I know. I just need to grab my bag and [ I’m ready ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cx7LZxpUS50).”

* * *

Sound check is tougher than she expected. She gets tired after singing and playing just a couple of songs. Her manager finds her backstage as the roadies are tuning everything up. “Tobin, you don’t have to do this tonight, you know. We could postpone. Everyone would understand.”

She brushes him off, insisting she’ll be fine come showtime, but she doesn’t sound even slightly convincing. Still, he leaves her alone _thank god._

She finds herself staring in the mirror, inspecting her own gaunt face. It’s amazing how much of herself she’s lost. Her eyes look almost faded, like everything she’s seen these last few months—these last few years—has sucked the pigment from them. She wonders if they’ll ever have light in them again. She’s hopeful they will. The important thing is that she’s [ alive](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3UgGe50SbeI).

When the show starts, Tobin walks onstage to vigorous applause. She stares into the darkness, blinded by the stage light. She can’t make out anyone’s face, but she squints and tries anyway. She knows her parents are out there somewhere with her sisters, but the show is sold out and the room is packed. She’s beaming, her smile bigger than it’s been in months, as she sits down at her piano. 

“Thank you all for coming out tonight.”

The crowd erupts in cheers. She waits for them to grow quieter again, 

“As you know, I’ve had a hell of a year.”

A fan screeches, “I LOVE YOU, TOBIN!” and Tobin smiles. _God, she’s missed this_. The crowd settles, almost unmoving. A slightly unnerving hush blanketing the room. 

“Anyway, I’m going to give you all my best tonight, but I’m still making my way back. I’m asking for a little grace and patience.”

Shouts of, “Of course!” and “Anything for you” fill the air. 

She looks out into the crowd one last time and then down at her fingers on the piano. With all of the energy she can muster—energy from the depths of her bones; from the depths of Katie's bones— she raises her voice, “I just want to say, it’s good to be [ alive](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3UgGe50SbeI)!” 

She counts off, “One, Two, Three, Four,” and starts to play. The band bursts to life with her and the room goes wild. They jump and sing as she makes her way through the first single on her new album, and Tobin almost has to stop playing to just live in the moment.

A whole thing happened without her even around—her music made it to all of these people who are yelling it back at her now over driving bass and a rhythm that seems perfect for the occasion. She makes eye contact with Ashlyn as she drops her lead guitar back to rhythm and mouths, “Oh my god,” eyes wide.

“I know!” Ashlyn mouths back, nodding and smiling proudly. 

She lets the music carry her for half the album, when they take a break. They’d actively planned an intermission— “because we’re fancy, like the symphony” Ashlyn’d claimed—to let Tobin catch her breath. And while she’s totally wiped out she feels oddly invigorated. Backstage she gulps down water as her bandmates exchange high-fives and comment on how amazing the energy in the audience is. 

“God, I wish Christen could have been here.” She sighs as their revelry starts to lull.

“I know, bud, but she had an interview at a private practice back in SF, right?” Ashlyn asks.

“Yeah, and it sounds like it’ll be the perfect job for her! I just think she would have loved this. She always loved shows like this.” Tobin looks up at the ceiling, “At least they’re recording it.”

Ashlyn opens her mouth to respond, but something behind Tobin catches her eye as a voice starts to carry into the room, “Well if my girlfriend was missing my big debut after cancer, I think I’d be dumping her ass.”

Tobin’s eyes light up and she spins to find Christen. “BABE! You made it? What—? How—? What about your interview?”

“What, the interview with the private practice here in LA that offered me the job on the spot? I figured they didn’t need me to start tonight.”

Tobin bends down, wrapping Christen’s legs in her arms, picking her up and spinning her. “I THOUGHT—! You’re lying!”

Christen giggles as Tobin spins her, “Now why would I lie on my own birthday?” 

Tobin sets her down, gazing star-eyed into Christen’s eyes. “You’re not supposed to get ME a present on YOUR birthday! Much less two!”

“Well, babe, if you haven’t noticed, getting to be around you, to see you doing what you love, to see you thriving, that’s a present for me as much as it is for you.”

Tobin kisses her deeply and holds onto her like she’s clinging to a liferaft. “This is amazing. You are amazing.” She says as she peppers kisses into the side of Christen’s head.

The venue’s stage manager calls out that they have 5 minutes and Christen loosens her hold around Tobin’s waist. “Go finish your show, rockstar. We’ll talk more after. I love you.”

“I love you, too, babe,” she breathes, letting go of Christen, “More than you know.”

Before they head out onto the stage, Tobin stops Ashlyn. 

“I think I want to start the encore with that new song. Do you think that'd work?” 

* * *

The second half of the show somehow goes even better than the first. It’s as if the fans imbue even more life into Tobin than she’d had before starting the show. By the end she’s sweaty and exhausted, but she’s so thankful. 

When they cheer the band back on for the encore she comes out alone. 

She sits on her piano stool and pulls her microphone out “Hey guys! This has been an absolutely perfect night.”

She lets the crowd scream as she smiles. 

“A few months back I didn’t even know if we’d get to play the new album live ever. But you all cheered for me and hoped for me and prayed for me and here we are, playing this thing live. Thank you.”

The crowd erupts again.

As they start to quiet Tobin leans into the microphone, “Now, I owe a lot to so many people in this room—you [ all saved me ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sA8PaIw5gcE)—the fans, my band, my family, my sister who literally gave me cells from her own body.” 

The crowd applauds again, but quiets more quickly.

“But there’s also a girl here. A lot of these angsty songs we’ve been singing tonight have been about her. But that’s not who she is in my life—she’s not my heartbreak, she’s not my loss, she’s just the girl I’ve been in love with since I was 13.”

The crowd lets out a collective “awww.” 

Tobin continues, “I remember sitting by a bonfire and realizing I was completely and totally in love with my best friend. And at first it felt like drowning, but then I realized it was like breathing for the first time. Like she tethered me to the earth and taught me what it meant to really be alive." She inhales slowly and sighs. "And we fucked that up for a while—me and her. I used to think it was just me, I used to blame myself. You can hear that in the songs. But we’ve been working through our shit and we’ve learned that we both need forgiveness. But what is most important is that when I needed her most—when I was in and out of consciousness in that hospital bed in Ohio and I didn’t feel like fighting anymore—she put all of our shit aside and put her life on pause and she came for me. And some people say love isn’t enough, but here’s the thing—for us, I think it just might be. I think her love saved me.” 

She pauses to inhale deeply as another contented, “Awww,” rises from the crowd.

“Anyway, today is her birthday, and she just got a badass job as a doctor here in LA”

Tobin pretends to whisper into the mic, “I know! A doctor, you guys! Definitely punching above my weight.”

The room fills with laughter. 

“So, anyway, I wrote this song for her a couple of months back, just after I got out of the hospital and before my bone marrow transplant. It’s really different from my other stuff, but it’s just what came out. And she’s never heard it, but I want to play it for her today, with you here, if that’s alright?”

The crowd cheers and whoops, as cries of “YES!” and “Do it!” and “TOBIN SING TO ME” echo. 

Tobin shakes her head, smiling, as she starts to play a simple melody on the piano. “This is for the woman I’m planning to spend the rest of my life with,” she says, just before she starts to sing.

The crowd falls silent as the words fill the room. 

> _I spent most of my life  
>  _ _just above the surface  
>  _ _Knowing it was safer in the shallow end_
> 
> _But the stars in your eyes,  
>  _ _And the fire-glow on your face  
>  _ _I’m thinking I’m just too damn  
>  _ _Deep to pretend_
> 
> _We were 10 years on that wire  
>  _ _And I decided to leave  
>  _ _Maybe if you jump, too  
>  _ _You can meet me  
>  _ _You can meet me on_ [ _solid ground_ ](https://drive.google.com/file/d/16GrgjDPUddhKDOnlbkj0htE8DdjlmwKc/view?usp=sharing)
> 
> _It isn’t my hometown  
>  _ _But I can fake it anyway  
>  _ _Then as I start to fall  
>  _ _I can only speak your name_
> 
> _And I’m sorry for  
>  _ _The unbearable place  
>  _ _That I’ve put you in  
>  _ _But it’s so good to see your face_  
>  _And if I watch you close  
>  _ _I think I’m being saved_
> 
> _‘Cause you put me on solid ground  
>  _ _Could you meet me on solid ground?_

As the song ends, people clap gently and sigh as the crowd releases a collective breath they’ve been holding in. As they quiet, Tobin stands. “So, what do you say, Chris?” Tobin’s voice carries softly over the sound system. She shields her eyes, scouring the crowd, trying to find Christen. “I’ve been carrying this around since the day they said I was cancer free.” She reaches into her pocket, pulling something out. The crowd gasps, hanging on Tobin’s words. “And I know it’s fast, given the circumstances, but what is time to us? I’ve loved you since I was 13 and we've been through hell and back again.” She finally finds Christen in the crowd at a table toward the back of the room. “I don’t know how long life will be, but I want to spend the rest of it with you. Marry me?”

Tobin can feel all of the expectant eyes follow her gaze to the back of the room. Christen doesn’t respond immediately and Tobin's stomach starts to tie into knots. She watches as Christen digs into her purse and the crowd starts to murmur. She pulls something out and holds it up in the air yelling out, “I’ve had it since that first night I saw you in Columbus.” She starts to walk toward the stage and the crowd parts, though she still has to push through people reaching around each other to capture her journey to the stage on their phone cameras. “I have the same question for you.” 

“Is that a yes, then?” Tobin asks.

And Christen nods as the bouncer helps her over the guard railing and onto the stage. She takes the microphone from Tobin and says, “Yes,” before taking Tobin’s face in her hands and kissing her with such passion Tobin almost loses her footing. “I’d love to spend forever with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> You might have missed it at the end there, but there was an original song. The incomparable writersblock109 actually took some time and recorded that song for all of you to listen to. It's stunning and I am so happy she agreed to do it. She took something that was fine and captured everything I meant it to be. 
> 
> Give it a listen: 
> 
> [Piano Version (the one from the fic)](https://drive.google.com/file/d/16GrgjDPUddhKDOnlbkj0htE8DdjlmwKc/view?usp=sharing)
> 
> [Uke Version ](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1p78IW5y1_cxFtH0wXeuNOc6LNyiEtPIR/view?usp=sharing)
> 
> Thanks to here_to_read_1818 and Kingborommokat28 for reading earlier versions/portions of this and providing feedback! And thanks to Rover's Stannies for helping me brainstorm things where higher numbers are worse.


End file.
